Beginnings
by vethia
Summary: this takes place long before the anime actually begins. spoilerful, so be warned... it's a hypothetical meeting between vash and legato. my first fanfic ever. tell me how much i suck!


well, here it is: my first fanfic. i suppose it could be considered to have spoilers, but the real thing is that if you haven't seen all of trigun, it's likely that you just won't get it. so... *shrug* read at your own risk, and don't forget to tell me how atrocious it is. *grin*

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            He sat alone, resting briefly in the afternoon sun. The town was fairly quiet. Folk were about, certainly; children playing in the dusty streets, men and women shopping or talking or laughing together in the town square. The lazy day seemed to put them at a step of remove, however—he could ignore them, focusing instead on the comforting heat. For the moment, he ignored his obligations as well, as any young man might. It was enough to simply _be, without __doing. His orders could wait for another day—this feeling was too good to pass up. He closed his eyes and leaned back on the bench with a sigh, enjoying the solitude._

            "Hi there! Is this seat taken?"

            The man looked up with a start, squinting up at the owner of the voice through blue locks, admittedly surprised. People seldom spoke to him by choice. His appearance was normally enough to put them off—blue hair and golden eyes aren't the most common of features, after all. People fear what they don't understand; this is a proven fact. He shoved back memories of angry mobs, of fire and smoke, of a corner where a young boy cowered, frightened and alone… The intruder still stood above him, smiling down without a trace of alarm. He blinked, nonplussed, and answered with the only thing he could think of: the truth. "No."

            "Great!" Without hesitation, the newcomer plunked himself down on the other side of the bench, either not noticing or not acknowledging the surprise it brought to the original occupant. "Beautiful day, isn't it? The kind of day that makes you glad to be alive."

            "Well, I don't know about _that," the blue-haired man murmured, taking a moment to size up his new companion. The man was fairly tall, with green eyes and blonde hair that seemed to stick up of its own accord. __How in the world does he manage to keep it up like that…? A cheerful smile adorned the man's face, and a bright red trench coat covered his body. A brown paper bag accompanied him, and from it he withdrew a donut and began munching happily._

            "Why do you say that? Don't you like sunny afternoons?" The donut disappeared with astonishing speed and was quickly followed by another.

            "I didn't say that. I simply pointed out that a single afternoon is insufficient compensation for the… less pleasant aspects of life." He winced, golden eyes narrowing, hearing his own words spoken with a twinge of bitterness. _Now why did I say that…? He would have to work on mastering his tone. It wouldn't do to allow others to understand his emotions. No, not at all… Involuntarily, his right hand moved to cradle his left arm, rubbing it under the sleeve. __It's been a year already… why does it still feel so out-of-place? He tried not to think about the strange, hollow feeling where the foreign flesh joined his own… but the blonde man was speaking again._

            "I disagree completely. A single afternoon can be worth a lifetime of pain. You just have to be able to put it aside for a moment and concentrate on the goodness around you."

            He turned to give the man in the red trench coat a closer look, nonplussed. _Why does he seem familiar? "You would suffer a lifetime for the sake of a bit of sun?"_

            His companion looked down, a soft, sad smile on his face. "It's not just the sun. Look at everyone—" The man gestured expansively, encompassing the town square and all of its occupants. "They're enjoying life. See that woman with her children? Or those two men coming out of the bar? They aren't thinking about their problems. This afternoon is just a little bit of peace for them."

            The blue-haired bench occupant turned to the square with a derisive sniff. He looked at the townspeople, then _looked again, unsurprised by the results of either observation. "They may pretend that they're happy, but that woman's husband just left her—she won't be able to feed those children tomorrow, and she knows it. And those two men…? They are celebrating the fact that a mutual acquaintance that neither of them cared for has been thrown out of town." His eyes narrowed and his mouth compressed into a thin line. "__There's your happiness: false hopes, pretty pretenses, and delight in the pain of others."_

            The blonde turned, setting aside the bag of donuts, and looked at him with a slight frown. "How do you know that…?"

            The strangely bitter man shifted uncomfortably and looked away, lying carefully. "I don't, of course. It's simply human nature."  He fully intended to stop there, but there was something about the man beside him, almost as if they… knew each other? No, that wasn't it. As if they had something in common… but that couldn't be.  Nevertheless, he found himself continuing, almost against his will. "Humans—people—are afraid of things that are different. They are selfish, petty, cruel, narrow-minded creatures. Anything that does not immediately fit into their tiny little paradigm is hated, feared, and ultimately destroyed." He lapses into sullen silence, still not entirely sure why he is speaking so frankly.

            After a long pause, the other replied, "But… they aren't _all like that…"_

            "Of course they are. They may not all show it, but when put to the test, their mob mentality will overrule all pretenses of reason. They hate what they fear, and they hurt what they hate." His voice was low, but it trembled with meaning, able to send shivers down the spine with a mere spoken word.

            The blonde man looked down, closing his eyes, as if remembering some faraway place or time. At length, he spoke again. "Nevertheless… nevertheless, they all deserve a chance. We can't blame the entire human race for the sins of a few, no matter how grievous."

            "You're naïve. Those 'few' grow greater in number every day."

            "You're focusing on the bad instead of the good." 

            "And what, pray tell, is the _good inherent in human beings…?"_

            His strange seatmate answered question with question, turning a concerned gaze upon the man with the golden eyes. "What could people have done to you to make you hate everything so much…?" His tone was sad and concerned, which only served to incite the bitter, lonesome man further.

            "The same thing they've done to _you, and to everyone else. Human intolerance is a well-known fact." He rubbed his left arm again, pushing up the sleeve of his white coat. It was pristine at the moment—an unusual color, to be sure, but other than that, a perfectly ordinary piece of apparel. He'd been considering enhancing it for some time, but his natural appearance had been doing quite a good job of putting people off on its own, so he hadn't bothered. Now, however, he was beginning to reconsider. Suddenly, he became aware of a certain pair of wide green eyes staring at his arm. "And just what are __you looking at?"_

            The other turned away, sharply, drawing a pair of strange orange sunglasses out of a pocket and hiding his eyes behind them. "Nothing… nothing. Sorry." The first man glared up at the blonde for a moment, then looked down, wondering why that hollow feeling had suddenly gotten so much stronger. An awkward silence ensued as the two lost themselves in private thoughts, sharing the bench and the sunbeams. Tempers slowly cooled until at last, they became simply two men, enjoying the afternoon in companionable silence.

            At length, the man in the red trench coat speaks again, his tone unreadable. "You may be right about some of them… but that's the way people are. Some are good and some are bad, but in the end, people are just people. We don't start out with some cosmic plan." His voice becomes soft, almost sad. "Your ticket to the future is always blank."

            The golden eyes moved, looking the speaker up and down, but their owner chose not to reply. In silence, the two men watched the suns set, painting the sky with a million shades of red and orange. Each was lost in his own thoughts, contemplating the viewpoint of the other. Finally, when the last sliver of the second sun was barely visible above the horizon, the second man stood with a sigh.

            "Well, it sure was nice talking to you." He picked up his bag of donuts and gave a cheerful wave over his shoulder. "See you around!"

            "Wait…" The man with the donuts stopped, turning back with a little smile. "I never got your name."

In response, the blonde tendered a little chuckle. "Oh, my name's not really important."

            The golden eyes narrowed—if there was one thing their owner disliked, it was being denied. He reached out with his mind for a quick probe, wondering vaguely why he hadn't done so before… and stops short, eyes widening as they looked at the other man with newfound understanding. All at once, the pieces began to click into place: the strange sense of familiarity, the echoes of the past, the hollow feeling in his left arm… Involuntarily, his eyes moved to the man's left arm, only now noting the tiny inconsistencies of movement that revealed the limb's artificiality. Suddenly, it all made sense.

            The man's face, open and _almost friendly just moments ago, hardened to a mask of bitterness and resentment. Softly, he replied in a tone reminiscent of a slowly spreading oil spill, "No. I suppose it isn't."_

            He who wished to remain nameless smiled cheerfully and departed with a little wave, apparently oblivious to the hate-filled glare his back was receiving. _So that's him… the man I replaced. The one who will always be first, of whom I am only a pale reflection. The golden eyes narrowed, all traces of contemplation gone. __You won't remember me, I'm sure, the next time we meet… but I will always remember you._

            Deep within the turmoil of his mind, a tiny, hesitant thought surfaced. It was quickly silenced, of course, but not before making its presence known.

            _Why did it have to be you…?_


End file.
